When I missed the only possible train two weekends ago, I thought I'd blown my chances of seeing the Met's La sonnambula for good. But fate was in my favour for once, and a glitch in that session meant the broadcast was re-screened last weekend. It meant going to a different theatre and buying a second ticket, but so what? Natalie alone is worth far more than that, and besides, I was determined to see this production. Anything which generates as much controversy as Mary Zimmermann's production of La sonnambula did on its opening night has to have something going for it.
And so it does. I'm not about to defend this show from all the criticism it drew. A good deal of it was reasonably well founded, and those who outright hated are hardly likely to have their minds changed by a biased little creature like me. But personally, I loved it. Zimmermann's "let's set Opera X in a rehearsal of Opera X!" concept is not exactly new. Nor is it consistently logical. I don't care. I enjoyed this Sonnambula more than I thought I could enjoy a Sonnambula. It was beautiful, it was funny, it was wonderfully sung and acted, and for (almost) every questionable decision or nonsensical moment, there was one of beauty and insight.
I even liked the finale, where the cast finally dons their ridiculously twee Swiss villager costumes and stages a cartoonishly traditional Sonnambula. I know this scene troubled even some of those who liked other aspects of the production. It's true it could (and perhaps should) be construed as deliberate mockery of those who might have expected — and preferred — a conventional Sonnambula. But for me — and it's true I was already predisposed to like it, just to be contrary — it felt like a fittingly joyful conclusion. All the anguish and heartbreak is out of the way, the personal backstage politics have been resolved and so this imaginary little opera company can get on with doing what it's there for — a nice production of La sonnambula — and Natalie's troubled Amina/soprano-singing-Amina can unite her personal and artistic happiness in a fun filled finale. Of course, my response might just have been influenced by the extreme adorability of Natalie in her Swiss dress and green shoes. (I want the green shoes.)
Oh, Natalie. There was a time when everything I read about Natalie was praise. To the point that I assumed she was being overhyped and was reluctant to listen to her. These days I'm the one praising her left, right and centre, while elsewhere I seem to read more criticism than anything else, not all of it fair. Well, fine, if that's how you feel, but it isn't how I feel. Her voice has changed a lot and a lot of people are not happy about that. I am. I love her, and I love her on her own terms. I don't even want to argue that her acting compensates for any occasional threadbare patches in her voice (although I think it does) because as far as I'm concerned, those patches don't require compensation. I love how she sounds. I just do.
And so I adored her Amina. The chance to see Natalie play a variation on her own personality — and, more broadly, to see her play a really and truly modern character — is one of the best things about this production. Even if for nothing else, Zimmerman's concept was worth realising just for that. She was as captivating as she always is, in that way that only Natalie ever is. Amina is loved and adored by almost everyone who comes into contact with her, which is why they're so devastated when it seems like she might not be perfect after all. Natalie's performance — however you choose to understand the Zimmerman/Dessay concept of the character — makes that mass affection believable. She's not just the pretty village maiden. She's fascinating and hilarious and complex and a total sweetheart and...and...and...well, if I lived in her village, I'd be only too happy to put my dirndl on and sing a zippy chorus in her praise.
Could she be just as enchanting in a traditional production? I'm sure she could. That's one of my favourite aspects of this production. For all its teasing post-modern nonsense, it's such a strong showcase for the talents of its principal cast that it makes a very convincing case for Sonnambula in any setting as an interesting opera (dramatically and musically) and not just dull organ-grinder fluff. I'm far more inclined now than I ever would have been before to engage with a straightforward Swiss village Sonnambula, because the sheer novelty of Zimmerman's modern conception allowed it to highlight the essential beauty and appeal of the opera without battling contempt-breeding familiarity to do so. And now I know. So I don't have to see every subsequent Sonnambula set in a Manhattan rehearsal room to keep appreciating it, but I'm very glad to have had the chance to see it like that and if this one comes out on DVD, I will buy it in a heartbeat.
Despite appearances, I have not forgotten Juan Diego. As if anybody could forget Juan Diego. I think I'd forgotten, since La fille du régiment, just how lovable he is, and then he descended that rehearsal room staircase, and I remembered. Of course, his Elvino is not the puppy-eyed boy Tonio was — he has a bit more bite to him — but he is still as irresistible as ever. I love the way he and Natalie work together. His way of singing is so different from hers, so much more in the strict bel canto tradition, scrupulous and meltingly legato, and his acting, too is a bit more straightforward, still dotted with a few of the old fashioned gestures of which Natalie has so thoroughly rid herself. And all of that is utterly in his favour. Two frenetic modernists together would be too scatty to take. But he has just enough golden age gloss to support her Thoroughly Modern Amina, and meanwhile her hyperrealism rubs off on his Elvino enough to keep him believable. I love them together, both as a pair of characters and as a sonic experience.
And — this merits a new paragraph — good lord, how the boy can sing. I must confess that occasionally on disc, I find the edge in his voice a bit too much to take in large doses. But with the space and scope of live performance — even if relayed by satellite — I cannot get enough of that voice. Every little bit of it: the pianissimi, the runs upon runs upon runs, his gorgeous duetting, his depth of expression, all of it is very, very good. Not to mention that note. The one he holds forever, giving the entire chorus time to scuttle offstage before he finally releases it and falls to his knees, to show-stopping applause.
It's hard at this point for whatever I add about the rest of the singers to sound anything other than tacked on, which is a shame, because they do deserve much better than that. I was especially mad about Michele Pertusi as the Count, so wonderfully suave and charismatic. Every day I become more of a baritone fanatic, and singers like Pertusi are the reason why. Jennifer Black is a bit of a revelation as Lisa: what a treat (for her and for us) to see this character given so much personality and implied personal history. For all her sharp asides, you can't dismiss her offhand as a bitch: she's too three dimensional for that, and she charts a real psychological development, so that her eventual volte-face actually makes sense. I'd read here and there beforehand about the scene on the windowsill and it was just as lovely a moment as I'd imagined. Jane Bunnell was just the right kind of matronly, bossiness and benevolence balanced nicely. The chorus, too, does a pretty fabulous job — it must be a nice change for them to have a chance to play real individuals (and perhaps themselves) rather than a faceless mob. One quibble: why did everyone show up to the second day of rehearsals in exactly the same outfits they'd worn the previous day? Hah. As if I should be looking for logic in this show.
There are people who will tell you that this production was a travesty, a disaster, an abomination. And some of those people will tell you that it makes a mockery of La sonnambula itself, that it destroys the Beautiful Soul of a Bel Canto Gem, or words to that effect. Well, I don't know. Maybe it does. But in my case, it made me appreciate the opera more, not less. Yes, I laughed at it a bit, but it was with affection. I ended up with my opinion of this opera genuinely improved: and whether you think that's because of Zimmerman's ideas or despite them, it seems to me like an undeniably happy ending.
Oh. One final note. My heartfelt congratulations to Barbara Willis Sweete, for finally managing to film one of these broadcasts properly. Seems she's finally figured it out.
